


Overheat

by mythtress



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythtress/pseuds/mythtress
Summary: Nate uses Overdrive (and then some) to handle a run in with raiders. Hancock helps the dweller deal with the side effects.





	

A splatter of chunky red paints the rubble. Nate feels the fatigue of the swing across the expanse of his shoulders, only for an instant. The mix of Overdrive and Buff out has him hoisting the sledge hammer and turning in the direction of shrieked curses. They'd been jumped by a band of four in the remains of a construction site. Stacks of steel girders and rebar, a long unused cement mixer, and a leaning crane make up the obstacles of an impromptu battleground. On the far side of the site Nate can see the foreman's office, a dilapidated little 5th wheel trailer. Most likely where their assailants had been holed up.

Hancock's weaving in between some exposed steel beams, leading the last two unfortunate souls on a merry little chase. Combat knife flashing in the shafts of dingy light seeping through the never to be completed building. The ghoul's to fast for them. A flurry of red and gravely laughter. It's the ultra jet making him walk that razors edge between pure skill and plain recklessness.

Nate admires the mayor's attitude, that live in the moment way of thinking. The vault dweller had never done that back before the bombs. He'd been raised when there was a Nation, and he'd been promised a tomorrow, and he'd always have another chance. Two hundred years later, Nate had woken to a new world, an irradiated wasteland. He'd tried to adapt to a land of no guarantees, radioactive monsters, and junk guns. Hancock on the other hand had been born and breed in the Commonwealth. He breathed the lifestyle of the wastelander as easily as he soaked up radiation. Though he wasn't a pre - war ghoul; he was highly adaptable, knowledgeable, well connected, and charismatic. Under the fine tricorn hat and disarming smirk was a ruthless streak running darker than the ghoul's coal colored eyes.

The hammer cracks through the legs of a raider sending them howling to the broken pavement. Their pained cry distracts the guy still dancing with Hancock, and they glance over their shoulder. It's a fatal mistake. The ghoul sees his moment and takes it, rushing in. The knife goes deep, thrusting once, twice, up down, then back again. Eyes wide in shock as he gurgles and sputters, body crumpling into a bloody mass on the ground. Nate doesn't think the guy woke up today expecting to be carved up like a Christmas goose.

The raider with the bones jutting from his leg is yelling, making enough noise to bring every nasty thing, currently calling the bones of Boston home, down on top of them. Nate can't allow that, so he lifts the tool one more time, an all too familiar ache running through his muscles serves as a warning. His nostrils flare, breathing hard and his body tensing on the upswing. But he's got just enough left. Enough chem coursing through him, and enough justification to end this. They made their choice by attacking, it's not personal. It’s hardly an afterthought as the heavy head breaks through the man's feeble attempt to block. The sound of crunching bone mixes with the breaking of concrete. Vivid red oozes into the newly formed cracks, saturating the irradiated ground underneath. The echo of his final scream reverberates into the ruins around the construction site, dissipating into nothingness.

Nate releases the handle of the sledge hammer. It remains imbedded, like a macabre Excalibur. He doesn't think he could lift it again even if he wanted. The buff out has run its course, his muscles are contracting painfully and fatigue is setting heavily into every fiber of his 6'6” frame. Though the Overdrive still has hold of him. His pulse is rushing faster than river rapids and his heart is beating against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage. He doesn't need violence, but he does need action, he needs to be physical; to burn off some of this damn fire building up under his armour, heating up his skin. Like the prickling touch of radiation. Radiation has to be soaked up, and Ghouls can do that. Luckily he just happens to know a ghoul.

Nate glances around to see Hancock, knelt down by the raider he'd gutted. The mayor's got a fistful of hair, craning the raider's head back, dragging that wicked knife slowly, deliberately, across the man’s throat. There's a gurgling noise and a bit of misty red spray, but the guy's mostly bled out by now. It's not an act of mercy. If Hancock had wanted to be merciful he'd have slashed the throat in the first place instead of painting the sidewalk red. Hancock wipes off the blade as he stands up, and the knife disappears with a flourish of his stained cuffs.

Nate feels so hot now, he's afraid he might spontaneously combust. His chest is heaving, trying to gulp in enough air. He's not aware that he's moved until he's already done it and by then he's reaching out to grab hold of the ghoul. Hancock's not strong enough to break the vice gripping his wrist, and his wide eyes say that he doesn't appreciate the man handling. He stops trying to go for his knife when he sees it's the vault dweller, though his guard remains up.

"Nate, what're you doing?" Hancock tries to free his wrist but Nate won't release him. The bigger man's other arm locks around the mayor's slim waist and holds him fast.

"Hot…" Nate’s eyes are dilated, and he's having trouble forming full sentences. He tugs the ghoul closer, pulling them flush against one another.

"Hot? What're you talking about? What's hot?" Hancock wriggles against the solid wall of Nate's body. He can feel warmth radiating off the man, his features are flushed through to the thick column of his neck and beyond where the vault suit remains zipped up, nice and proper.

"Hmm…feel so hot, like rads…" Nate nips at his neck as he’s pulling away and Hancock can't suppress the shiver that runs through him.

There's no barrels of waste here at the abandoned site, which is odd. Most businesses used construction to hide illegal runoff. It’s why drums of toxic waste could be found all over the Commonwealth. Thanks to corruption and a general lack of concern the world was being turned into a radiation filled wasteland long before the war, the bombs just sped up the process.

Though it’s hard to tell with the tall buildings locking them in on all sides; up above the clear blue sky peeks through without so much as a wisp of green cloud to warn of an encroaching radstorm. It’s as calm, and beautiful a day as one could ask for in the wasteland. Except for Nate acting so weird now.

"Soak 'em up for me…" The way he asks is pleading, begging the ghoul to do the impossible as Hancock feels the insesent grind of the man’s hips.

The pip boy isn't ticking away it's warning, so it can't be radiation. Nate must be overheated from the chem cocktail he'd taken earlier. It's messed up his head, and his body. His perfect, pre - war body. The same body Hancock fantasizes about near every night.

“Please…John…" It's the berry mentat on top and any trace of Hancock's resolve to hold out till Nate's more coherent crumbles as the words slip past lips sucking a delicious bruise right at the junction of his collarbone and shoulder.

"Whatever you need, love, whatever you want." An uninhibited moan escapes his throat, as he wraps his legs around the taller man's waist. Nate's happy to bare the ghoul's weight, despite his muscles screaming in protest. The aches are drowned out by the heat that's coursing through his body, burning deep in his belly. He wants this one and everything will be fine once he's not on fire anymore. The finer details can be sorted out when objects don't have the wavy tinge of a mirage to them.

"You're burning up. Let's get out of here." Hancock's mouthing at his skin, along his forehead, cheek, and jawline, finally locking their lips. His fingers combing through dark, sweat slicked hair. Nate's shambling over to the 5th wheel, muscular legs threatening to give out with each step. Hancock's urging him on with his tongue and touches, his words are lustful, heavy, rumbling against Nate's ears in the chemical haze but giving him what he needs to keep going.

Getting out of the open is a good idea, even through the flames lapping his common sense to ash he knows it's important to have cover. It's become second nature to find shelter after all the close calls in the bomb addled bones of Boston. The ramshackle trailer smells of wet rust, old cloth, and stale bodies. They'll make it work, they always make it work.

Hancock chuckles darkly, breathe blistering hot, as Nate nearly trips over the makeshift stairs. The dweller manages to get them inside, ducking low as the ghoul clings to him. Nate wavers like a tree that's had it's trunk cut through and his body gives out soon as his ankles hit the edge of the overused mattress. The ghoul gives a delighted whoop as they tumble and he settles on top of the broad chested vault dweller. Nate's got a grip on the back of his red frock, heavy lidded eyes glistening.

"Oh my, you're lookin' like a caravan brahmin that's been overworked the last ten miles." Hancock snickers, pulling at the straps that hold Nate's chest piece in place. It takes him a moment to hear what the ghoul's said before he scowls.

"A Brahmin?" Nate sounds genuinely perturbed by the comparison. "That's not attractive."

The ghoul tries hard to reign in his laughter as he tugs the zipper of the vault suit down to the dweller's navel. "Attractive enough for me." The pout Nate's sporting is damn cute but Hancock kisses it away all the same. He slides his hands under the tight blue fabric and tugs the suit away. "Oh.” Nate’s skin is heated under his touch, tan flesh flushed red hot, like the boiled shell of a Mirelurk.

“Oh?”

“Hm, it’s nothing, pip boy.” He eases down the dweller's chest, leaving an intimate trail of minute bruises in his wake. Nipping and sucking until the perfect prewar body beneath him is trembling. Hancock adores how sensitive his handsome companion is, likes it all the more when Nate starts to loose the tight grip he keeps on himself. He’s able to keep the reins in hand even when chems are coursing through his veins, but not when Hancock gets his mouth on him. Nate can't seem to keep his head when Hancock’s there, and that makes the ghoul feel so powerful, even when he’s between the dweller's thighs.

“Seems that blood is flowing where it'll be more useful.”

His off hand comment is nearly drowned out by the groan that escapes Nate’s mouth when Hancock presses down on the bulge that's been growing steadily since Nate had first grabbed him. The vault suit is a lot of things but discrete isn't one, as the ghoul feels Nate throb heavy under his touch.

Hancock frees the dwellers painfully swollen member and a whimper escapes him.

“Easy love, I’m gonna take care of ya.”

Nate pants and whines for relief, his muscles tensing in anticipation,“Han… Hancock.” sweat drenched skin glistens in the low light, tantalizingly. The Mayor takes ahold of him and licks a stripe up from the base. Radiation makes the ghoul warm to the touch, his tongue is delightfully hot. Against Nate's already sensitive skin it’s nearly to much. He bucks up dislodging the ghoul. Hancock chuckles, repositioning himself over the man’s pelvis to hold him down. Though he knows if Nate really didn't want it, there’d be little he could do to physically restrain the man in place.

“Let's try this again.”

Hancock's mouth seals around the head of Nate’s cock. Tongue working round in a counterclockwise motion. He’d always been one to go against the norm. Ghouls didn't produce excess bodily fluids. Building up enough saliva for decent head took some time. He teases with the tip of his tongue around the solid head before grazeing his teeth down Nate’s shaft.

The vault dweller is losing his mind. Head pushed back into the dirty mattress, spine wanting to arch, to force himself down the ghoul’s hot throat. Hancock’s rough hands at his hips reminds him to stay put if he wants the attention to continue. He moans, teeth sinking into the fleshy part of a fist while the other hand tugs roughly at his own sweat damp hair. Hancock is smirking around his mouthful at the gorgeous picture of Nate unraveling.

The ghoul isn't unphased. He can feel his own cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. Hancock slides a hand down to unzip his fly and free himself. His head starts to move up and down Nate’s cock as he takes himself in hand to perform the same pumping motion with his rad weary fingers.

Nate’s needy whining causes the ghoul to halt and look up. He replaces his mouth with a calloused hand that strokes lightly,  almost painfully slow.

“What, love, tell me what you want?”

“You, please…I want...you.”

“I’m right here, sunshine. You already got me.” Hancock answers back, voice as sweet as Nuka on gravel. Nate’s legs are trembling, shaking like his head. When he finally looks down at the ghoul with unfocused eyes, it’s not at his face, it’s to where Hancock's stroking his own leaking cock.

“Ah, I never could deny my public.” The mayor smirks as he shimmies forward into a better position. Wrapping  them both up in his hands. He works the heads of their cocks, slicking them up with precum. Nate's head slams backward onto the mattress as he moans in frustrated anticipation. Hancock feels the dweller's legs wrap around his middle and tighten. Being wanted, desired, never gets old for the ghoul. He works them fast, both men panting. One from exertion the other from the chems coursing through him. A sheen of sweat has collected across Nate's exposed skin. Cooling rapidly in the irradiated air, but not quickly enough to quench the heat that’s boiling his core. He can feel it even through the haze, building up strong in his lower abdomen. His body is like a malfunctioning pressure cooker he thinks and almost laughs. It turns into a choked sob as Hancock strokes them faster.

“Gonna blow your top, sunshine?” Hancock manages to tease him, though he’s obviously having trouble forming thoughts. His words are stilted and his hips jerk in an unsteady rhythm. Nate can't answer, even though he wants to. All he can give is the most pleading of noises.

“Go right ahead, I might even join ya.”

Hancock winks, still teasing, even at a time like this. Nate isn't paying attention though. He’s coming undone. Eyes closed, brow furrowed, muscles tensed, with cum erupting out of his cock like lava from a volcano. At least that’s what he feels like for a brief moment. As soon as Nate’s found his release his body starts to simmer. The horrible sensation of heat, dissipating, finally. He shudders against the extremes as his body registers the much cooler night air. 

The whole spectacle, along with the dweller's throbbing cock wrapped up with his, brings Hancock to the brink. His climax isn't as pyroclastic as his smooth skinned partner but a few good pumps have him mixing their bodily fluids all over his hand. He uses his thick tongue to clean up the mess, both on his knuckles and all over the dweller's stomach.

Nate sighs at the contact. It’s wet and warm, but not unpleasant. His muscles still protest any movement, but he fights off fatigue one final time to wrap the ghoul up as he lays down next to him. They drift off just as the patter of rain begins to beat upon the roof.

Outside, the rainfall cools the atomic landscape and causes red streaks to run away from the rubble.

**Author's Note:**

> A return to smut after a long hiatus as well as the first time writing smut for this pairing, critiques are welcome


End file.
